


Free-Falling

by iguessso12



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Link never remembers, Post-Canon, Zelda is the Mature One[TM] this time, amnesia is not easily solved, her favorite kind of experience, i'm tired of reading GaryStu!Link, identity crisis, it's a learning experience, you think a guy who's been living by a thread would have manners?!?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-21
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-26 02:28:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14990771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iguessso12/pseuds/iguessso12
Summary: Link’s gone missing and Zelda goes on a hike to find him. Introspection abounds as Link and Zelda set to the task of reconciling just WHO the champion of Hyrule truly is - the late Link, a blend of two people, or someone entirely new.(My take on post-game Link-and-Zelda-talk-it-out session. Beware of My Opinions[TM].)





	Free-Falling

**Author's Note:**

> “Every trial endured and weathered in the right spirit makes a soul nobler and stronger than it was before" —William Butler Yeats

Link is late.

He is supposed to be at this meeting to introduce Zelda to the construction tycoon, Bolson, but instead Bolson bolts forward and introduces himself. Bolson claims that Link is “a good, reliable fellow who already agreed to finance the whole project of rebuilding Castle Town” and Zelda is not sure how she feels about that arrangement but that’s a problem for another day. In the meantime, Zelda is assured that “she need not worry about anything other than whether or not the designs please her.” Designs Bolson bolts off to draft without another word.

And that is that.

The meeting is over in the blink of an eye and _still_ no Link. Zelda isn’t all that worried. Link is often late. The concept of being “on time” to something is still mind-bogglingly unfamiliar to him. Link prefers methods of telling time such as “morning,” “noon,” and “sundown,” despite the fact that he had been traveling with a Sheikah Slate equipped with a clock for the better part of a year.

Nonetheless, Zelda finds herself frowning at said Sheikah Slate Link had returned to her. The readout says ten in the morning. The meeting had been brief, yes, but Link hadn’t even shown his face around the hastily built village adjacent to the Castle ruins. Which is strange.

Zelda stops a passing Beedle with the question “Have you seen Link?” but the wandering salesman only shrugs. To him, not seeing Link for days - or even weeks - on end is not unusual.

But for Zelda, it had only been a few weeks since her return from the divine realm of the goddesses and Link had not left her side for more time than it took her to get a good night’s rest.

This _is_ unusual.

After stopping a few more passerby and getting much the same response, Zelda lets out a huff and takes out her Sheikah Slate.

Eleven in the morning.

Zelda reprograms the Sheikah Sensor with a picture Link had taken to demonstrate the self-portrait function on the camera. In the picture, Link isn’t facing the lense. His head is turned half-way as he talks to her in the background. One arm is half-visible while the other is holding up an index finger like a rather pompous tutor. Which Link is _not_. Despite all this, the picture is enough to register the picture under the slot designated as “Champion of Hyrule.” Zelda supposes “Master Sword” would have been a satisfactory search as well, but she doesn’t want to risk it.

Newly programed Sheikah Slate in hand, Zelda turns in a full circle to determine her starting direction. When the Sensor beeps, Zelda grins at her ingenuity, slides the Slate into its pouch on her belt, and starts off.

But her good mood vanishes quickly. If she had been concerned before, she is now doubly so. The Sheikah Sensor is leading her towards the nearby mountains, _not_ Link’s temporary house.

Determined, Zelda takes a breath of the wild wind and presses on. If something is the matter with Link, it is her job to find out and fix it for him. That’s how it works with them. They take turns saving each other.

Him saving her from the Yiga.

Her saving him from the guardians.

Him saving her from Ganon.

And now the list continues.

Through noonday, the Sheikah Sensor only beeps occasionally to signal that Zelda is still going in the right direction. But Zelda isn’t close. Her new boots, cobbled together by Rhodson, rub blisters into her feet. She is eternally grateful for excellent hiking shoes, but she wishes to the goddesses that they were already broken in!

The goddesses do not perform a miracle, as if to say “your hero has suffered much worse than blisters for you.”

Zelda presses on.

The mountains grow steeper, lined with treacherous falling rocks and loose gravel that makes her footing unreliable. Sweat makes her clothes stick uncomfortably to her skin. Her stomach rumbles to remind her that she hasn’t brought any food - or water for that matter - with her, and it’s now well past lunch.

“Link,” Zelda mutters to herself, “What in the three goddesses’ good names are you up to?”

The Sheikah Sensor’s beeping picks up its pace. Zelda sends up a quick prayer of thanks. Her energy returns with the promise of progress, but it quickly dwindles when another hour passes and still no sign of Link is apparent.

No sign of _anyone_ for that matter.

There is no trail to follow. No settlements. No houses. Not a living soul. Just trees and mountains and small creatures and the wide open wild sky. Cloudless. Clean. Cerulean. And darkening to shades of indigo by the time the Sheikah Sensor begins to beep furiously, announcing her arrival.

Zelda looks around. Still nothing. But in the dimming light, she catches sight of a silver trail of smoke. She grins again at her ingenuity and tracks its source: a lively, bright, cackling campfire.

The insistent beeping of the Sheikah Sensor is mere backdrop noise.

“Link!” Zelda calls, “Link, where are you?”

Because after all her trouble, the campsite is disappointingly Link-less.

The beeping breaks off suddenly.

“Um… behind you?” comes a cautious voice. And it takes Zelda’s best efforts not to scream and whirl on him like a re-dead, but she manages it. Heroically, Zelda might add. Because who sneaks up on another person like that? It’s just plain _rude_ and…

“I’m so sorry, princess. I mean… your Highness? You’re the ruler of Hyrule now, right? What does that make your title? Uh… nevermind. I’m sorry for scaring you.”

Zelda wants to laugh, but it doesn’t seem the proper moment to do so. Link might think that she is laughing _at_ him. Which, admittedly, she is. It’s just that, Link has a tendency to ramble when he’s put on the spot. Which is incredibly unlike his past approach to dealing with pressure. And it’s rather refreshing.

“You didn’t scare me.” Zelda says. And when Link’s thoroughly confused face glances up to meet her smug one, she clarifies, “You _startled_ me.”

“Is that not the same…”

“Nope!” Zelda cuts him off, “It’s my turn to ask a question.”

Link grins, but still manages to look confused, “Shoot.” He says.

Zelda sucks in a breath, filling her lungs, and asks “What exactly are you doing all the way out here?” with the pointed accuracy of an arrow to the heart.

If a human could wear the expression of a startled deer, they would look like Link in this very moment. Eyes wide and wild. Hands gripping air. Knees bent like he’s ready to bolt. And Zelda wants to say something to break the tension but she also wants _answers._

Zelda’s stomach complains quite loudly and the tension pops like a soap bubble.

In the time she can blink and sit down at Link’s mumbled invitation, the Champion of Hyrule hands her a plate with carefully toasted truffles, a skewer of meat, and a campfire baked slice of bread. Zelda gobbles it down in a rather unladylike fashion, but she’s seen worse, specifically from the person sitting across the campfire. Link’s expression is faraway though. He’s not judging her. And Zelda can’t say she would care even if he was.

“So?” Zelda postulates between bits, “I’d really appreciate an answer to my question. Especially since I came all the way out here.”

“No one asked you to.” Link grumbles. And Zelda is certain she isn’t meant to hear it. No Link - Past or Present - had ever been so unguardedly frank with her. Which is also why it doesn’t make her angry. She always did encourage him to speak his mind. If he happened to finally be doing so at a point in time that would royally piss Zelda off - pun intended - well, she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of getting a rise out of her.

“I’ll wait for you to gather your thoughts.” Zelda says instead and tucks back into her food.

So Link gathers his thoughts. Zelda can tell by the hard glint in his eyes and the downturn of his mouth. Link is a man of action, and converting those actions into words can be heinously difficult for him. That much had not changed. But as someone who regularly, and meticulously, documents her thoughts as words, Zelda can know this factually but cannot relate on an emotional level. Link’s struggle is his own. So Zelda waits. Patiently.

In the background, the sun settles on the mountaintop and plays humming red and gold wavelengths of light across the wilds. In the distance, Dueling Peaks catches rays and converts them into dramatically contrasting shadows. Zelda captures the moment on the Sheikah Slate, but the picture hardly does it justice. Zelda wishes she’d been blessed with artistic abilities of painting or drawing, knowing such mediums to be much more capable of conveying depth and warmth and emotion. Zelda sighs as the moment passes and the wilds are plunged into darkness. The light and heat of the campfire is now all that remains.

And like a page is turned in their story, Link begins to speak:

“I don’t know… I don’t know what’s expected of me anymore.”

Link glances up, for a fraction of a second, but quickly returns his gaze to his hands - dried and cracked, lined with callouses, smudged with grass stains. He squeezes those hands together, the ones that tell Zelda more stories about the man than the man himself tells about himself, and continues.

“See, even when I woke up, I knew what was expected of me. _You_ told me. King Roham told me. And all the other tasks that came up. Those were just…”

Link gestures helplessly.

“It kept me busy for so long. It kept away any questions I could ask myself about my past. The memories were also just a means to an end. To show me that I was expected to finish the job I started or to make up for failing in the first place, I don’t know which.”

Zelda wants to interrupt. To tell him it was neither of those things. But it seems best to let Link continue. For his own sake. To air the thoughts that had been bothering him enough to make him leave like he had.

“And now that that’s all over.” Link throws out an arm for dramatic effect, “I have more time to think about myself - who I am - and what’s expected of me now. And I’ve come to the conclusion that _I don’t know_!”

Link fixes her with a stare.

“ _I don’t know_ what _you_ expect of me. I’m not… I’m not that Link I saw in those memories. I’m not quiet. I’m not stoic. I’m not driven. I’m not your friend!”

And boy, does that ever sting. But Zelda remains silent.

“I don’t even know you!” Link’s voice cracks, “Not that I don’t _want_ to. It’s just, I didn’t know how to tell you that that guy from those memories is _gone_. Other than those memories, I _don’t_ remember you. I don’t remember anyone. I don’t remember old Hyrule. I don’t remember how to be a soldier in a kingdom with an actual king and an actual army. I don’t remember the proper way to kneel or bow or address royalty. But…”

Zelda is trying not to cry when Link’s voice catches and he has to begin again.

“But when we stopped Ganon that’s the first thing you said: ‘Link, do you remember me?’ That’s the _only_ thing you expected of me and I… I can’t fix that I can’t be who you expected. So I’m stuck. Because I can’t move on because I can’t do this _one thing_. And without something to do, I’m not even the guy who woke up a year ago. Everybody knows me as the guy who’s always helping. And, well… right now I’m doing nothing but whining.”

Link tosses Zelda a painfully wry grin.

“So as for why I’m out here.” Link lays back, hands laced behind his head, and looks through a gap in the treetops to the stars beyond, “I guess I thought it would help me clear my head. I’m not so sure it was a smart plan now that you’re here and I’m forced to really think about it.”

Link chuckles, but it sounds self-depreciating to Zelda’s ears.

So Zelda scoots around the fire and mimics Link’s actions, careful not to lay so close as to make him uncomfortable. All the same, Link shoots her a nervous glance.

“I think it was pretty smart.” Zelda announces, “If not a little half-baked. It would have been nice for me to know ahead of time that you needed some down time, so that you could have it to yourself. And so… you know, I wouldn’t be here ruining said downtime by making you feed me.”

“I don’t mind…”

“Nope!” Zelda cuts him off, “Clearly you mind because my very presence is making you uncomfortable.”

Link grumbles some denial under his breath, but Zelda overrides him again.

“Nope! It’s my turn. See, I don’t mean that you hate my very presence or particularly dislike providing nourishment for the starving…”

“You weren’t _starving_.”

“ _Hungry_ then. My point is, I am the source of the troubles you are trying to resolve, so having me here is counterproductive. But have you considered that having me here can also be _productive_ , if not the solution?”

“How so?” Link asks skeptically.

“Because all you have to do is ask!” Zelda thinks it’s a pretty stunning conclusion she’s come to. But Link doesn’t look appropriately awed by it, in fact, he looks confused.

“Ask what?”

Zelda closes her eyes so he can’t see her roll them behind her eyelids. Instead, she says gently, “Ask me what I expect of you, Link. I promise I’ll answer you honestly.”

And now the Champion of Hyrule looks scared. Viscerally so. It’s a look he’d long hidden from the citizens of Hyrule one hundred years ago behind a perfectly porcelain mask of stoicism. And that doesn’t mean Zelda _likes_ seeing his fear. Not at all. Just that it’s such a rare sight that it jerks the metaphorical rug from under her feet. They’re free-falling together into whatever uncertain future this is.

“I don’t know if I can.” Link says slowly, “I’m not ready.” He looks around the dark campsite, “I haven’t prepared myself.”

“Prepared yourself with what?” Zelda’s heart hurts in her chest, “With weapons? Weapons won’t do you any good here, Link.”

“And that’s what I’m afraid of.” Link confesses, “The kind of things I’m not equipped to deal with are the things that cause me the most stress.”

“Well let me equip you with something that _will_ help in this situation.” Zelda suggests. And Link’s expression is bright and hopeful. “Knowledge.” Zelda says resolutely.

Now it’s her turn to say what’s been on her mind since Ganon’s defeat.

“Before I tell you what I expect of you, I will tell you what I know of you, Link. And no, don’t interrupt.” Because Link look’s ready to object, “This is what I know of the _current_ you, Link. The Present Link.

“First: you are very talkative. When you are around people, you expect the silence to be filled. Only when you leave and walk the wilds are you silent as a ghost.

“Second: you love helping. No task is impossible as long as you are prepared for it. Build a town? Sure. Why not? Fight a lynel and a mob of mounted bokoblins? Yeah. Is there enough food? Retrieve the Master Sword? No sweat. Okay, maybe some sweat. But still, you would do it. You _did_ do it.

“Third: you love animals. All the pictures still saved to the Sheikah Slate are gratuitously breathtaking pictures of wildlife. And I watched you through your travels. The only creatures you killed were wolves that were a threat to you. You fed steaks stolen from bokoblins to dogs, you gave apples to wild and domestic horses alike, you never shot a blupee despite the rumors of rupees.

“Fourth.”

Zelda takes a deep breath because here is where she gets real with Link.

“Fourth: you never remembered your past. You saw snapshots _I_ had chosen for you. They did not occur organically, but by the divine intervention of the goddesses. And while I see some mannerisms of the Past Link in you,” Link twitches at that statement, “the Past Link _died_ that day. _Died_. I have no childish fantasies that he’s locked away inside you. You have the right to be your own person. And you are.”

“Fifth.”

Zelda could do this. She _can_ and she _should_. For Link’s sake as much as her own.

“Fifth: you don’t love me. And I don’t love you. In the past, that was true.” She could feel her face flame red even though that love was long ago and she had one hundred years in the realm of the goddesses to come to peace with her loss, “Link and I - the Past Link - were very much in love.”

Link’s mouth is hanging open in shock and Zelda very much wants to reach over and snap it shut. Instead, she does it with words.

“Oh come on,” She scoffs, “Can you think of _any other reason_ my powers awakened when they did? They awakened so I could protect you - the Past you. The Past Link’s life was in danger.” Softly she adds,  “He still died though. But it was worth it to be the one who last held him. It was worth it to be able to end Ganon together.” She looks at Link, “In a manner of speaking.”

At that, Link grins, “Glad I could help, even if it’s just by wearing a mask.”

“Or by wearing a costume.” Zelda teases, poking his nose.

They’re silent for a beat, their eyes on the twinkling stars and the rising moon.

“But really,” Zelda says, “To sum it up, I _know_ you are your own person. Can you forgive me for making you feel so unsure of yourself?”

Link smiles at her. A genuine smile. All traces of his earlier doubts sealed away. And Zelda wonders if her magic did that or if really was her words. No matter.

Link says, “It’s really my fault for overthinking things. But if it makes you feel better, I do forgive you.”

“Thank you.” Zelda says smugly, “It definitely does.”

“So I lost my memories and you lost your knight.” Link summarizes, “And they just so happen to be the same thing. How ironic is that?”

“Pretty ironic.” Zelda says with a yawn. All the walking and talking is catching up to her.

Link laughs, “Are you gonna stay up for dessert?”

“What’s for dessert?” Zelda asks, closing her eyes and preparing to be disappointed.

“Fruit cake.”

Zelda snaps into sitting position. Link laughs even harder at her expense, but Zelda doesn’t care. She hasn’t had fruit cake in over one hundred years.

Link digs around in his bottomless pack, saying, “I read in a journal that it was your favorite. Some guy at some stable practically worshipped you and wanted to try it.” Link hands her a cake and Zelda gobbles it down, “It’s sure to be authentic because this guy wouldn’t accept anything less. He totally flipped out on me one time I tried to give him monster cake instead.”

“Waff’s monsther cak?” Zelda’s question comes out muffled around a mouthful of half-chewed cake.

“Another story for another time.” Link says, working on his dessert more carefully, “My point is: is the cake good?”

“Very.” Zelda cleans frosting from her fingers the old fashioned way, because it would be a waste otherwise, that’s why, “You got any more?”

Link does, in fact, have more.

“Good.” Link says, satisfied, “I always wanted to know if I really got the recipe right. It bugged me that I might have gotten it wrong and then I’d have lied to that guy.”

Zelda rolls her eyes. _Of course_ that would be Link’s concern.

“I guess if all else fails, I can be the royal chef or something?”

“Deal!” Zelda thrusts out her hand to him. Link waves it off though, instead fluffing up his pack and laying down on it like a pillow. Apparently satisfied with its softness, he hands it to her still outstretched hand.

When Zelda looks confused, Link says, “Guest of honor.” At Zelda’s scowl, Link shrugs, “Hey, it’s not special treatment. I’d do it for anyone who braved the wilds to come out and talk to me. It’s just, you’re the only one who’s done that.”

Now that’s a more palatable answer.

Zelda lays back and Link situates himself against the trunk of a nearby tree, but it seems Link’s not done talking yet.

“So I think I’m ready to ask you my question.”

“Mmmhmmm.” Zelda snuggles down into his pack that smells like sun and leather and apples, “What question was that again?”

“What do you expect of me, Zelda?”

He’s quietly and calmly waiting for an answer. Zelda feels minutely satisfied that they’ve come round in a full circle. She’d been waiting and she’d been ready.

“I expect,” Zelda says slowly into the night air, “That - if you’re okay with it - we can be friends. Even if it means starting from scratch. You are so incredibly important to me, not just because of who you _were_ , but because of who you _are._ Which is the type of person who will take on the task of saving a princess that everyone thinks is long dead from a monster everyone thinks is undefeatable. _That_ is who I want as a friend. So what do you say, Link? Can we be friends?”

On a breath of the wild, she hears his answer, tinted with a smile, “We can be friends, Zelda. The best, in fact.”

Zelda smiles into his pack, the picture of satisfaction, and slips into sleep. Peaceful despite the uncertain future they’re free-falling into. Because at least they’re free-falling into it together as friends.

_Fin_

**Author's Note:**

> I seriously believe that they will be more than friends down the road, but they both need to find their place in the new Hyrule before that. Link and Zelda are relics of an old Hyrule. They WON’T be the people they were because people grow and change, especially in adversity. And BOY did they face adversity. So this is my patch-me-up/response to all those fanfic writers out there that like the suave Link. Link has serious memory problems (those are never easy to deal with) and he’s spent so much of his life doing things for others that it probably seems foreign to put himself first for once. But the kid needs a break. And Zelda would be the VERY LAST person to begrudge him that.


End file.
